


What the Fourth Wall-Breaking Superhero Did Next; or, Mr. Huffle Feels Pain

by TheSaddleman



Category: Deadpool (2016), Deadpool - All Media Types, Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crack, Deadpool - Freeform, Drinking, Drunk Doctor, Fourth Wall Breaking, Freeform, Humour, Other, a little bit of rpf, and a lot of strangeness, spoilers for doctor who: the return of doctor mysterio, squeeze toys in distress, uncategorizable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaddleman/pseuds/TheSaddleman
Summary: Deadpool told Nardole he only wanted to hold Mr. Huffle for a moment. The horrors that followed will haunt the Doctor and Nardole to the end of time. And as for the author, he has his own problems to worry about."Saddleman, do you really think that summary is going to entice anyone to read this thing? Seriously?"QUIET, YOU."Come on. Let me have a try."NO, BECAUSE IF YOU DO IT, I'LL NEVER BE ALLOWED TO POST ON AO3 AGAIN.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry.
> 
> I've suffered for my art. Now it's your turn.
> 
> I rated this T but there are bits here that come right up to the line between Teen and Mature.
> 
> "Well if you'd only let me swear and take off my clothes like I did in the movie..."
> 
> Quiet, you.

The Doctor and Nardole sat alone in the TARDIS console room, nursing their third scotches of the night. And, for the third time that evening, the Doctor was very thankful his latest incarnation had reacquired a taste for booze. Nardole, his companion-cum-valet-come-whatever, looked even more like a deer caught in the headlights than usual. And as for the Doctor ... well ...

They needed the drink. After all they’d witnessed, they really did. The Doctor occasionally claimed he could never get drunk, but he planned to prove himself a liar, even if it meant clearing out every single cubbyhole that River and another ex-companion had used to squirrel away alcohol. Funny, he couldn’t quite remember the name of the other companion. Must have meant the Johnny Walker King George was finally kicking in.

“Nardole?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“I blame you.”

“For what? For that Deadpool bloke getting into the TARDIS?” Nardole bristled. “You were the one who set the co-ordinates wrong and caused us to jump a dimensional track in the vortex. If anyone should be sorry, it should be _you_.”

“I don’t blame you for _that_ ,” the Doctor glowed … er, glowered (ah, at last, the onset of blissful inebriation. Wait a second, the _Doctor_ is supposed to be the one getting drunk). “I blame you for the other thing.”

“Doctor, I’m sorry. I had no idea that he’d … I mean … he said he just wanted to squeeze Mr. Huffle. And before I knew it ... it was too late. I didn’t know humans could do what he did. I didn’t know humans would _want_ to do what he did. Poor Mr. Huffle.”

The Doctor turned slightly his bleary eyes in the direction of Mr. Huffle. Or perhaps the Doctor slightly turned his bleary eyes in the direction of Mr. Huffle. Nuts, the Doctor looked at Mr. Huffle.

Perched precariously on the TARDIS console, Mr. Huffle looked back at the Doctor, silent as always. His electric-shock dark hair seemed even more electric-shocky than usual. His out-of-kilter eyes even more out-of-kilter. His beatific smile a trifle less beatific.

Brave little squeeze-toy, Nardole thought.

My faith in humanity has been shaken, the Doctor thought.

\---, Mr. Huffle thought.

The Doctor considered a moment. “Maybe if I just keep Mr. Huffle’s back to the column, no one will notice?”

“Have you, you know, tried the thing?” Nardole asked, nervously.

“What, you want _me_ to…”

“No, no, no! For god’s sake, no!” Nardole cried out, covering fnord his eyes. “I mean the other thing. You know, squeeze his head. See if he still makes the noise.”

“I never want to hear that sound ever, ever again,” The Doctor glared back at him. 

We may never truly know what Mr. Huffle endured, for the Doctor and Nardole agreed then and there that they would never speak of that night again. 

If you were to have looked at Mr. Huffle closely enough at that moment, as the Doctor did, you might have seen the slightest hint of a tear forming in the corner of one of his off-centre eyes.

At least … it might have been a tear. 

I think it was a tear.

Oh, dear god in heaven, please let it have been a tear.

“Nardole?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Prepare the TARDIS for Decon Protocol 5.”

“I don’t think that will be enough, Doctor.”

The Doctor downed his shot and held out his glass for Nardole to refill. The night, after all, was still young. Unfortunately.

***

Across the multiverse, Deadpool warbled “Oh, What a Night” to himself in a falsetto that was the envy of Mr. Herbert B. Khaury, deceased, as he skipped along a tree-shaded country lane, ready for a new adventure in his stylish red-and-black Speedos...er...superhero costume.

But, in his heart, there rested the memory of his one great lost love from another dimension and the night of passionate bliss they had shared together.

Too bad about those two spoilsports—the Scottish guy and the bald guy. They wouldn’t know the true beauty of love if it bit them in the ass. 

And then Deadpool stopped skipping. He stopped warbling. Bored now and missing Mr. Huffle terribly, he pondered his next move.

He pondered and he pondered until his ponderer was sore. Not to mention slightly swollen and turning an odd shade of wenge; he might need to have that checked by a specialist.

“What the hell colour name is wenge? Sounds like you just did a Google search for ‘unusual colour names’—with that silly ‘u’ in ‘color’—and picked out the one that sounded most like a dick joke.”

Uh ... anyway ... Deadpool shrugged and decided to head for the nearest Funko Pop figurine retailer. Nothing would replace his Hufflypoo, of course, but the last time he had been at the mall there was a finely detailed Mr. Snuffleupagus that had caught his ey-

“Hey, well done, Saddleman. You actually spelled Snuffleupagus right without Wikipedia. Big round of applause everybody for Mr. Al-”

HEY! HEY! WHOA! NO! STOP RIGHT THERE.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t want the fine readers of Archive of Our Own to know your real name?”

MAYBE NOT TODAY. 

“Why? Don’t want people looking funny at you at work because you spend hours writing mushy fanfic about that scary-eyebrows Scottish guy and his sort-of-dead tiny girlfriend?”

THEY WOULDN’T LOOK FUNNY AT ME AT WORK IF THEY KNEW.

“You’re joking, right? Half of them don’t even know what _Doctor Who_ is. Didn’t one of them ask you if that was the guy who wrote _Green Eggs and Ham_?”

THEY WERE JOKING. I THINK THEY WERE JOKING. HEY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? I’M THE WRITER.

“And I’m a formerly obscure-until-my-hit-R-rated-movie-came-along superhero whose best-known superpower is _breaking the fourth wall_. What the hell did you think would happen when you decided to write me into one of your fanfics?”

JUST LET ME TELL MY STORY.

“Listen, man, you might think I’m unhinged, but I know what’s going through your head and I’m not going to let you have me debase an American cultural icon from _Sesame Street_. And in a _shopping mall_ with _old ladies watching_. At long last, sir, have you left no sense of decency? And I’m not the one who came up with the idea of me going to town on some stupid squeeze doll thing from the _Doctor Who_ Christmas special. I mean, what type of sick, depraved mind even conceives of that? Is that why you keep posting in your blog that you’ll be first in line if some toy company makes a real Mr. Huffle? God, man—get therapy. Or a girlfriend. No, better still, get therapy _and_ a girlfriend.”

IT’S JUST A STORY. JEEZ.

“Does Jenna Coleman know how much you obsess about her?”

WHAT’S SHE GOT TO DO WITH MR. HUFFLE?

“Don’t avoid the question. We all want to know.”

I’M JUST A FAN.

“Are you kidding? Look at your blog—anotheruserwithnoname.tumblr.com—the thing’s a damn shrine. Every time she hiccups you’re in there like ich on a goldfish.”

SO WHAT? I’M A FAN. 

“No, you my good sir, are a fan- _atic_. You can’t even write a story without Clara in it because you want to have Jenna bouncing all around your imagination.”

THERE’S NO CLARA OR JENNA IN THIS STORY.

“There is now. See, you can’t avoid her.”

THAT’S BECAUSE YOU JUST BROUGHT HER UP!

“Give me a break, buddy. You start with the Doc getting drunk and unable to remember Clara, so you can have an excuse to throw in a bit of angst at your readers and justify getting this thing listed on the Whouffaldi Library Tumblr. If I hadn’t stepped in, you probably would have had the Doctor travel to the Planet Zetox—that's where the Great Gazoo comes from, dear reader—and run into Clara’s arms while vomiting bad romantic poetry about her being the sweetest flower in his garden of love. I went to school with guys like you. I bet you even have a big picture of the Artist Formerly Known as JLC on your Mac desktop.

BU-

“ _At work._ ”

GOT TIRED OF LOOKING AT PICS OF MOUNTAIN RANGES.

“It’s all good, man. We all have our own obsessions.”

WHATEVER, _MAN_.

“I have a wild idea. Let’s ask Jenna Coleman what she thinks about all this. Hang on a second. I’ll be right back.”

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

…

DEADPOOL?

…

FINE. HAVE IT YOUR WAY…

Deadpool quickly returned to where he was just standing, and he-

“-brought 2017 National Television Award nominee Jenna Coleman with him, fresh from London. Say hello to the people, Jenna.”

     _What people? Where am I and who are you?_

“The overweight guy with the Friar Tuck bald spot typing at his keyboard, that’s what people. Say hello, Jasmine.”

     _I don’t see anyone._

     _Hey, is this a joke? I was in Tesco’s trying to finally buy an avocado and then you grabbed me and there was a flash of light. Every time I try to buy an avocado, something comes up..._

     _I know what this is! Graham Norton finally booked me on his show and no one told me. This is some sort of a skit, right? Come out, Tom! Peter! Rufus! You guys set this up, didn’t you? Matt, is that you under that mask?_

“Actually, I’m a psychopathic superhero with the ability to break the fourth wall and I brought you over to my dimension so you can tell this guy he’s wasting his life.”

     _Doing what?_

“Writing endlessly boring fanfic about _Doctor Who_ and the Doctor and his girlfriend.”

     _He’s not wasting his time. Come on, Matt. Take off the mask, I know that’s you!_

“Hey, lady, let go of my Eggo-”

…

     _Ew!_

     _Wow, Matt, you’ve really let yourself go._

“Blame Prince Philip. So you don’t care that this guy in Canada keeps coming up with increasingly insane ways for Clara and the Doctor to get back together? How he can’t leave well enough alone?”

     _Nope. Can’t be any more insane than what Steven has planned._

    …

     _I probably shouldn’t have said that. Nope. I really shouldn’t have said that._

“Never mind, Hagrid. Did you know my friend here has a life-sized cardboard standup of you in his apartment? And he keeps getting startled in the middle of the night because he forgets it’s there?”

     _I get that a lot. There was this one time Peter and I played a trick on Ingrid Oliver! Ha! We-_

DEADPOOL, PUT JENNA BACK WHERE SHE CAME FROM. NOW.

     _Who's that?_

“A spoilsport. (Call me.) _Sim sala bim and yippie skippy_. Okay, she’s gone back to Victorialand or wherever she came from. And the only reason I’m even saying that is because _you_ can’t figure out how to write her exit without breaking the illusion that you’re pretending that I’m breaking the fourth wall because you wanted to be clever and find a way to post a weird William S. Burroughs-like ‘routine’ about Mr. Huffle without people looking at you all funny and perverted-like. Too late. And the idea you have for ending this thing with some Monty Python-like deconstruction of storytelling sucks, too. Spoiler alert.”

I ALREADY CHANGED THE ENDING A BIT.

“I'll bet what’s left of my right nut it has something to do with Jenna Coleman. And I bet you thought you were being über-clever sneaking in a pointless shoutout to _Illuminatus!_ by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson by sticking a random ‘fjord’ into one of the opening paragraphs of this story in some lame-ass tribute to how those guys did more or less what we’re doing.”

IT WASN’T FJORD, IT WAS FNORD.

“Damn you Auto-Correct. _Damn you allllll to helllllllllll_!”

I’M GETTING TIRED OF THIS. YOU’RE MY CREATION-

“Watch yourself, Jethro. I was created by Rob Liefeld and Fabian Nicieza. You really want to get sued?”

-THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT. THIS IS MY STORY AND I’M SUPPOSED TO BE CONTROLLING YOU, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND.

“Hah! You can’t write your way out of a paper bag. Where’s all the sex? You should have Twelve and Clara banging away like bumper cars at the North Dakota State Fair. Good fanfic needs smut. Lots and lots of smut.”

NO, IT DOESN’T.

“Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of smut.”

I DON’T GO THERE. STOP ASKING.

“Smut, smut, smut. Dripping from the ceil-”

ENOUGH.

“Whatever you say, Rev. Falwell. Okay, that’s it. Pull up a chair, Mr. S. Time for Dr. Deadpool to see you know. Psychiatric Help – Five Cents. Pay up.”

I ALREADY DID THAT JOKE IN ANOTHER STORY.

“Bet you thought that was funny then, too. You can’t even bring yourself to make me swear all proper-like. I dare you. Write some swear words for me to say.”

DON’T WANNA.

“C’mon. It’ll be fun. Just pretend I’m back in my own movie. You made the Doctor and Clara swear at each other for 1,994 tedious words in ‘I Swear,’ the least you can do is spare a few for me. What do you say, pal?”

...

“Ooh! Ooh! I feel something coming on ... yup, yeah baby ... here it comes ... uh-uh, uh-uh ... Garsh-durn it to heck! _See?_ You can’t do it, can you?”

YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING. I STARTED OUT TRYING TO WRITE A FUNNY, BIZARRE STORY AND YOU’VE GONE AND TURNED IT ALL META.

“So why don’t you scrap it like you did that one where Twelve and Clara meet the Six Million Dollar Man? Or the one where Clara turned into a meerkat?”

SHE DID NOT TURN INTO A MEERKAT! THE DOCTOR JUST MISTOOK HER FOR ONE IN THE DARK, IS ALL. I HAVEN’T SCRAPPED ANY OF THEM. THEY’RE JUST … ON HIATUS. AND I’VE COME THIS FAR WITH THIS ONE, I MAY AS WELL FINISH THIS DAMN STORY.

“I bet you don’t even know where this ‘damn story’ is going! Did you forget you’re supposed to be writing something related to _Doctor Who_ , or me?”

I’M TIRED OF ARGUING. I’M OFF TO WATCH THE JOHNNY CARSON TONIGHT SHOW DVD I GOT FOR CHRISTMAS.

“If that’s the way you want to play it, that’s fine. Fine. I can take care of myself.”

GOOD.

“Good. Who’s on _Carson_?”

BING CROSBY AND RAY BOLGER.

“No Art Fern?”

NOT THAT EPISODE.

“See? Always wasting your time. Art Fern was always my favourite, even after I discovered, ‘Take Interstate 5 to the Slauson cut-off. Get out of the car and cut off your Slauson’ was just a joke. (Glad I had comprehensive insurance though it still doesn’t point in the right direction.) Go and get all entertained by Der Bingle and the Scarecrow. See if I care.”

I’M AFK.

“Okay, AFK yourself.”

FINE.

“Fine!”

…

…

…

“So, anyone want to see Ryan Reynolds’ dic-”

GO HOME, DEADPOOL.

“Hah! You don’t know how to get rid of me! I win! I ... no, wait. What’s happening? Oh, come on, that’s not fa-

***

As the Doctor swooped the slender figure of Clara into his arms, their lips crashed together like waves on the shore, their passion overflowing. 

“Oh, my love!” he cried!

“Oh, my love!” she replied!

“Oh my god, I’m going to be sick,” yeeched Deadpool!

The two lovebirds' four eyes tap-danced, gavotted, waltzed and twerked.

“You are the sweetest flower in my garden of love,” exclaimed the Doctor!

“And you are the sweet chocolate in the sundae of my desires,” sighed Clara!

“And I’m the peppercorn that gets stuck in your cavity and hurts like hell,” ejaculated Deadpool! “Heh, heh, heh, I made Saddleman type ‘ejaculated.‘ Try to live that down, Mr. I’ll Always Be A PG Writer!”

IT IS A LEGIT WORD TO DESCRIBE CONVERSATION. JANE AUSTEN USED IT.

“And I bet she was giggling the whole time.” 

I GIVE UP. WELL, IT’S BEEN FUN, DEADPOOL. BUT JOHNNY CARSON ISN’T GOING TO WATCH HIMSELF.

“But what about the Doctor and Clara? They were just getting to the good part!”

“Can we have some peace and quiet? We’re trying to enjoy a romantic interlude here,” the Doctor interjected from the distance as Clara, reaching around him from behind, nibbled at his forehead. Which is physically impossible, but work with me here, people.

“See what I mean?”

SORRY. MAYBE NEXT TIME. ACTUALLY, NO NEXT TIME. YOU’RE BANNED.

“Don’t leave me hanging!”

SORRY. NIGHTY-NIGHT DEADPOOL. DON’T LET THE SCREENSAVER HIT YOU ON THE WAY OUT.

“But I’m still in here! Trapped! In Archive of Our Own! How do I get out?” ... 

“Hey?”

...

“I have an idea, I’ll just jump to somebody else’s story! Let's see, now... There’s one! Here I co

***

And at that moment, somewhere across in space and time, Jenna Coleman finally got to eat her avocado.

“Tesco's avocados are the best,” she said to no one in particular.

NO, THEY AREN'T.

“What?”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I am so, so sorry.
> 
> "No, he's not."
> 
> Quiet, you.


End file.
